Just a Matter of When
by The Skinny
Summary: "She's the Princess of Albion. She fights and dresses like a mercenary. She drinks like a soldier, and talks like a harlot, but she is a princess." He's trying to ignore his feelings. It's just a matter of when he'll finally give in.
1. Meets and Greets

**_Disclaimer: I don't own anything I'm not supposed to own, and, by writing this piece of fiction, I am not suggesting or implying that I do in any way._**

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><p>Saraneth stepped out into the heavy yet open air of Mourningwood, almost having to stop herself from sprinting towards the warmth. She was beyond thankful to be out of The Hole. She didn't mind enclosed spaces, at least not as much as Walter did. It was the hobbes she minded; the short, stubby, fowl-smelling creatures easily landed at the top of her list of least favorites. And while, admittedly, she did enjoy killing the little bollocks, she now had enough images of bashed in hobbe skulls to last her a lifetime and more.<p>

Walter followed closely behind, just as eager to soak in the light of the surface world. "Ahh!" he said with almost tangible relief in his voice. "You can almost smell the sunlight. Isn't it wonderful? The damp, muggy, soggy sunlight."

Sarah smiled, silently sharing his comfort. She followed after him as he walked ahead, trudging through the marshy puddles that spotted the area.

"This is Mourningwood all right. I hope the people we're looking for are still alive."

Her eyebrows creased in confusion. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Because, come nightfall, it's one of the most dangerous places in Albion." He stopped to empty the water and the other, slightly questionable contents that his boot had collected. "I don't know about dangerous, but I'm starting to get a rash. Bloody swamp." He grumbled irately.

"Who exactly are we hoping to encounter here?" She asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "They must be important, seeing as you were willing to walk through a cave, and a hobbe infested one at that, just to meet up with them."

"They call themselves the Swift Brigade. A regiment of the Royal Army, been stationed here for a few weeks. They're small in numbers, probably even more so now, but they're a group of strong, honorable men, and they'll make a vital addition to our cause."

She sighed, slightly out of breath. "Well, honorable or not, I just hope they have some ale close at hand." She said as the two continued on.

As they crossed a rotted wooden bridge, Sarah recognized a flag just ahead on their right, one of the Old Guard, planted in the ground on a mossy ridge.

"That must be the place up ahead," Walter said, also out of breath, "What I wouldn't give for a bowl of soup and a hot bath."

They approached a tall stone structure, decorated with a few more of the red flags. A soldier stood on a ledge overlooking the entrance. "Cease your movement! Be you men or be you hollow men?"

"Have you gone daft, boy? Open up the doors." Walter shouted up to him in a booming voice.

"Walter? Is that you?" The soldier replied skeptically.

"The very same. Now are you going to let us in or what?"

"Right, yes, of course," he stammered in reply before leaning over the other side of the ledge, "Open the gate! Tell Major Swift; Walter's here!"

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><p>Ben stood by idly as Walter and Swift exchanged their (rather tough and manly sounding) greetings, barely noticing the small but armed and able girl that had filtered in behind the large man.<p>

"Walter! What the blazes are you doing here?" Major Swift said, holding his pipe proudly in hand.

"We came here looking for you. I have a proposition." Walter replied.

Ben stepped in then. "You came all this way to proposition us?" He asked with a smirk. "And I thought you were here to save us from the legions of the damned."

Walter turned towards the Captain. "Ben Finn! It's good to see you," He said sincerely before turning back to the Major, "I take it the legends about this place are true then?"

Swift turned to leave and the rest of the men followed, with the girl close behind. "I'll say. You've never seen so many hollow men in one place. We've been stationed here for weeks, trying to eradicate them. Mainly it's us getting eradicated," he told them, stopping in front of a few freshly dug and filled graves, "We lost some good men last night, including Lieutenant Simmons here. And the buggers'll be back tonight."

"Logan just loves to send you on the best assignments, doesn't he?" Walter said, straightening himself up, "That's part of what I wanted to talk to you about."

Major Swift's eyes went to the aforementioned girl, and Ben's eyes followed, acknowledging her for the first time. A hint of recognition appeared on Swift's face. He motioned towards her. "Is this…?"

"The princess," Walter interrupted, "Yes, I'll explain. But just treat her like any other pair of hands for now."

"Yes, my hands are small, but don't let their size fool you. They're just as able as their larger counterparts." The princess said, speaking for the first time since their arrival.

Ben did a quick once over, trying not to linger but finding it rather difficult. She was dressed as a mercenary, but sported the look in a _very _different manner. She dusted off a cleaner and blacker than most renegade jacket, worn along with a pair of women's mercenary shorts, with the usual striped tights removed, showing off an impressive pair of legs (impressive as in strong and capable, not impressive in a suggestive way, surely not). Her dark hair was pulled up in a loose bun, with a few strands misplaced here and there, as if she had just fought off an endless wave of hobbes.

_This is definitely not what comes to mind when one hears the word "Princess"._

Swift barked a laugh at her quick charm. "Fair enough. Captain Finn will show you to the mortar. We could use a body up there."

With that Walter and the Major went back to catching up, mostly conversing about mustaches.

Ben Finn started off towards the stairs, the Princess matching his pace. "Do you mind if I have a quick look around?" She asked. "I'd like to see if any of the men have a pint to spare."

Ben laughed, still finding it hard to believe that this was the princess. "Of course, Princess. We've a few hours before nightfall and the impending attack of the undead. Take your time. And, if I may suggest, try asking the soldiers by the fire. They're always carrying some sort of spirits with them."

She thanked him before heading off on her search for liquid comfort, stopping to call over her shoulder. "Oh, and please, call me Sarah. I'm just another pair of hands, remember?"

By the time he had gathered up enough of his scattered wits to nod, the princess was already settled by the fire on the other side of the camp.


	2. Snap, Crackle, Pop

_**_Disclaimer: I don't own anything I'm not supposed to own, and, by writing this piece of fiction, I am not suggesting or implying that I do in any way._**_

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><p><em>He was watching her. Not in a creepy way, but in an "I saw you from across the tavern" kind of way. She was sitting around the fire with some of the other soldiers. Five minutes ago, the only things they could think about were inescapable hordes of Hollow Men. Now, they were all swapping battle stories and showing off scars. All because of her.<em>

"_See anything you like, Captain?" Said Jammy with a teasing tone._

_Ben gave him a sideways glance and a smirk. "Too soon to tell."_

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><p>She was awake. She was supposed to be asleep. He was supposed to be asleep. But he wasn't, and she wasn't. She was sitting near the fire, drinking from what looked like a bottle of ale. Her mercenary boots and hats were off, her rifle and sword lain out next to her. She had let her guard down, which he imagined wasn't an easy thing to do for a princess spending the night in the Mourningwood Fort.<p>

"Sleep couldn't find you tonight, princess?" He said as he neared where she was sitting.

She turned to look back at him, a small smirk appearing on her face. "It appears not, Captain. I just can't seem to get the images of the deadly and terrifying Hollow Men out of my head. Silly me, right?" She offered him the bottle as he sat down next to her.

He accepted it gratefully and eagerly took a swig out of it. Whoa. Not ale. Whiskey. She drinks whiskey. She's the Princess of Albion. She fights like a mercenary, better than one, in fact. She _dresses_ like a mercenary. She drinks like a soldier, and talks like a harlot, but she is a princess.

After muscling through the pleasant sting of the alcohol, he glanced over at her (he definitely was _not _staring), bathed in the light of the fire. Her bare feet were pointed to the fire, seeking warmth. Her dark hair, which had been up before, was now falling in dark, messy waves around her face. She was beautiful, as fairytale dictates any princess should be. Though he couldn't recall hearing any fairytales that told of a princess with such characteristics.

"It gets better after a while. Though the whiskey doesn't hurt. It will certainly help speed up the process." He smirked and tipped the bottle to her before handing it back, resisting the urge to cringe as he watched her finish off the rest of the liquor in one gulp, half sickened and half impressed by the act.

"Ah, I find there are few occasions where whiskey does more harm than good. Unless you're talking about liver health, of course." She set the now empty bottle down and pulled her knees into her chest. They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, only the sound of the crackling fire between them.

"It feels like we should be saying something," She said, breaking the silence between them.

"What?" He asked, a little confused.

"I don't know. It feels like we should be sharing drunken secrets, over this bottle of whiskey. We're practically strangers, I realize. But we should be waking up tomorrow with terrible head aches and random, useless knowledge of each other. Isn't that how these things play out?" She looked at him expectantly.

He laughed at her behavior. "Forgive me, princess, but I'll have to take a rain-check. I'm not nearly drunk enough for… _any_ of that, unfortunately."

"Oh, you soldiers are always so timid." She said teasingly. "Very well. I'll hold you to that rain-check, Captain. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be off now. I have a rebellion to lead, and I'll need my beauty sleep." And with that, she stood up, gathered her belongings, called for her dog to follow, and then walked off towards her designated sleeping area, throwing a goodnight over her shoulder.

Left alone with his thoughts (most of which weren't exactly what one would call "appropriate"), Ben cursed himself silently. _She's the princess. The rebel princess. Which means that she leads, and I protect. No relationship past that should exist. That's all it was meant to be, and that's all it ever will be._

It didn't sound very convincing, even in his own head.


	3. To Smog

**!VERY VITAL AND IMPORTANT NOTE, PLEASE READ!**

**_I don't know how it happened, or how it escaped my notice, but the intended first chapter of Just a Matter of When didn't upload. My guess is that my internet cut out while I was publishing (it's not the most reliable of connections). So, ADDRESSED TO RETURNING READERS MOSTLY, please go back to Chapter 1, Meets and Greets. The original first chapter is now chapter 2, Snap, Crackle, Pop (I'll admit I did edit a few things. I've discovered that, as an author, it's almost impossible to view one's own work without finding the overwhelming need to edit it. And since I had the opportunity...) And, here's chapter 3: To Smog_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own anything I'm not supposed to own, and, by writing this piece of fiction, I am not suggesting or implying that I do in any way._**

**_Enjoy(:_**

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><p>Ben hummed as he walked through Bowerstone Industrial, weaving among the crowds of the hungry and unwashed. He and his men, having just returned from Mourningwood, were all relieved to have returned to the living part of Albion, far away from the hordes of the undead. Most of his comrades had immediately sought out the more beautiful areas of the world, having been deprived of anything even remotely inspiring (or clean, for that matter) for a number of weeks. Ben had headed straight to Industrial. Admittedly, this part of Bowerstone wasn't much to look at, nor was it home to the cleanest or most honest people of Albion. But truthfully, right now all he needed was a drink, a bed, and a long bath (though at this point he would have accepted a bucket of water thrown at him). The Riveter's Rest was currently the nearest tavern to him, and it had alcohol, which was, at the moment, the most important of his three requisites.<p>

Ben kept his head down, not enjoying the attention that his uniform got him. Rumors of "corruption" in the Royal Army had spread like wildfire. They could only hope that word of the rebellion hadn't reached Logan yet, but unfortunately, plenty of talk was being stirred up about it. Some people supported it, eager and ready to fight for change. But some (the wiser percentage of the population, in his opinion) knew that change is not something easily acquired, especially with a tyrant holding a tight grip on the current ways. Though they weren't necessarily against the resistance, they weren't willing to lose their heads over it, literally.

As he crossed the bridge, nearing the corner where the bar was situated, he studied the few people that staggered (with varying degrees of drunkenness) about the area. All of Industrial was sad and sorry, this was a well known fact. But Ben saw that the saddest and sorriest of the bunch were found in and around the pub. If one wanted to get right to the root, to the extremes, of any social issue in a community, the pub was the place to go.

So caught up in his own thoughts, he didn't notice the familiar dog perched obediently outside the door of the tavern.

Strolling into the building, he saw nothing that was recognizable to him (aside from the numerous drunks scattered about, some conscious and some not, though that was a common sight in any bar), seeing as he wasn't familiar with The Riveter's Rest. As he scanned the room for an open table, his eyes sought out a familiar face, belonging to a young woman in a full mercenary outfit sitting at a table near the window. Her hat and gloves were placed on the ground beside her, and she read from a large, leather bound book placed in front of her. She smiled up at the barmaid as she topped off the empty mug on her table.

Ben marched over to the table at which she sat, mentally turning on his irresistible (or so he liked to think) Finn charm. "Pardon me, miss. Is this seat taken?"

Looking up from her pages, her eyes met his, recognition appearing on her face after a few seconds. A small smile made its way onto her face as she shook her head and motioned to the empty seat, silently offering it to him.

"Forgive me for asking, but do you often spend your afternoons squandering away in the pubs of Albion?" He asked teasingly, sliding into the chair across from her.

She closed the book in front of her, dropping it on the ground next to the rest of her belongings. Resting her elbows on the table, she leaned forward and wrapped her hands around her beverage, taking a small sip before smirking at him.

"Well, Captain, this resistance hasn't made me immune to everything, you know. Even a rebel needs a break every now and again." She motioned to the barmaid, asking for another drink.

"Speaking of the rebellion, how is all of that coming along? Last I heard you were heading to the sewers to meet with the Bowerstone Resistance."

"Hmm, and meet them I did. Well, I don't know if 'meet' is the right word. There were no formal introductions. 'Stared down the barrels of their guns while they spoke at me', is probably more accurate. They're a rather jumpy bunch. A tad paranoid. But I guess they sort of have to be like that, considering their current situation."

Ben had to laugh at that. "Sounds like they gave you a warm welcome. Don't sweat it, Princess. From what I understand, Major Swift got a similar reception the first time he went down there."

He watched her as the barmaid dropped off his drink, admiring the way her eyes lit up as she handed the waitress a few gold coins. He grabbed the new cup and took a long, appreciative swig, swallowing the much needed and long overdue liquid.

"And what brings you to this part of Bowerstone, Captain?"

"Ah, the beautiful scenery mostly," he said sarcastically, motioning to the window beside them, "You just can't beat this view. Believe me when I say there's no other place in Albion where the smog is so thick that you can't tell the difference between night and day."

She giggled as she took another long drink, and he felt a strange sense of triumph knowing that he had caused it. "Realistically though, I just returned from Mourningwood, and this was the closest establishment to sell alcohol. The blackened skies are just a coincidental bonus."

She grinned brightly at him, and he wondered how anybody, even Page, could see a smile of such likeness and not trust the wearer. Catching sight of the clock that hung above the entrance of the bar, Sarah finished the last of her drink in one gulp before standing up suddenly, chair scraping against the floor as she pushed it back roughly.

"Sincere apologies, Captain. I'm not usually the kind of girl to buy a man a drink and then bolt, but I'm afraid I'll have to depart. I've a number of errands to run; a few lost items to retrieve, a handful of deliveries to hand out. Rebellion business. It's all a part of winning over the people. You know, helping the troubled, making a good name for myself, becoming an object of desire in the eyes of all Albion men, those sorts of things." She stretched her arms above her head, and Ben tried (but failed, for the most part) to ignore the smooth strip of skin that was revealed at the hem of her shirt (well, if she continues going about like _that,_ she'll be able to check off that "object of desire" bit in no time).

He stood up to see her off (he was a gentlemen, after all), gathering her belongings from the floor and handing them to her.

"I suppose I'll be seeing you at the headquarters in a few days, then? I mean, once I've proved to Page and her men that I can do more than sip tea out of tiny cups and perform a flawless curtsy, of course."

"If the princess expects me there, then I wouldn't dream of disappointing her. Plus, it might help get me a piece of all of this rebellion action I've been hearing about. It's been _far _too long since I've stabbed or shot something, my weapons are getting restless."

She laughed again, and he decided that he could listen to that sound all day. "Very well then. It's a date."

Before he had a chance to dissect the meaning of her words, she turned on her heels and nearly ran out the door. He caught a glimpse of her dog following closely at her heels (his gaze certainly did _not _linger on her smooth calves, muscled thighs… _Oh,_ _Avo help me_…) as she disappeared into the crowd.

He smirked to himself as he sat back down and ordered another round.

"It's a date." He echoed quietly.

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><p><em><strong>Writing makes me happy (:<strong>_

_**Did you like it? Yes? No? Either way, let me know. With the new review system, it's easier than ever. You don't even have to go to a new page! isn't that great?**_

_**My internet had been out for the past few weeks, and I had a LOT of free time, so the next few chapters are already written out, for the most part. I just need a few reviews to power my publishing mechanism. So if you love me, or hate me, won't you let me know?**_

_**No flaming please. I'm a woman, and women are the gentler sex.**_

_**_**Preview: Page is feeling awfully generous, and she just might let Ben tag along on the Reaver's Mansion excursion (;**_**_


	4. A Strange and Troubled Way

**_New Chapter! Sorry this took me so long to get published. I've been kind of busy lately, and also lazy. Mostly lazy, though._**

**_I found a great way to get past my writer's block. You guys should try this, it works. I won't allow myself to play Fable until I write and edit and publish whatever chapter I'm currently working on. It's a great incentive. Ahem. And of course, my readers' amazing reviews provide wonderful inspiration as well. One simple review means so much to a writer, as some of you fellow authors might now. It makes my tummy all warm when I find out that people are actually reading my work. And I love that warm feeling! So, this is me, sincerely thanking all of you for taking the time to tell me how I'm doing and igniting that hot bellied sensation that I so enjoy.(:_**

**_**_Disclaimer: I don't own anything I'm not supposed to own, and, by writing this piece of fiction, I am not suggesting or implying that I do in any way._**_**

**_**_Also, to cover all of our bases, no matter how unnecessary some of them may seem: The princess's name is Saraneth, everybody calls her Sarah. However, she'll go by "Princess" more often than not. Just like "Captain" will be Ben's common nickname. They're like pet names, I can't just drop them. Old habits die hard. Plus, Captain sounds quite sexy, which is fitting when describing a character such as Ben. 3_**_**

**_And now, WE RIDE!_**

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><p>Benjamin Finn was smitten with the princess. Unreasonably so. She was all he could think about, even as he marched through the underbelly of the already low Bowerstone Industrial. It was unusual for him, to be <em>so <em>hung up on a girl. It reminded him of his days as a school boy; giddy with young love. He remembers speaking shyly to whatever girl had captivated him that week, hiding a toy horse or some other flimsy trinket behind his back, never having the courage to actually present it to any of them. He hadn't always been the witty and charming man that he was now, that much was certain. And he had plenty of cringe-worthy memories of his younger self's awkward interactions with the opposite sex to show for it, some that he preferred _not_ to relive.

He laughed quietly at his reminiscence, stowing away his thoughts for another time as he walked into the war room of the Resistance Headquarters. There was a large, familiar figure in one corner of the room, leaning against a few boxes. He shuddered slightly. After seeing Sarah at the Riveter's Rest in Industrial, and having been left alone with his own (not all entirely appropriate) thoughts for three days, Ben had been having a hard time remembering why he was trying so hard to stop himself from even _thinking_ of the princess. But seeing Walter reminded him of the main reason, in a rather violent way.

"Walter?" he enquired.

"Ben? What are you doing here?" Walter questioned." I thought you were reporting to the castle with Swift."

Ben hesitated with an answer. He couldn't exactly tell him the truth; that he had developed some sort of infatuation with the very woman that Walter had sworn to protect, _and_ that he had been nearly dying to see her for three days (Well, he could tell him that, he just worries about how that would play out.).

Why risk provoking the gargantuan man? Ben was quite fond of his current physical and mental standing, and he saw no reason to endanger that.

"Ah… I—um—decided to stay behind. See if I could get in on a revolutionary battle or two. Those meetings are always boring anyway." He laughed nervously, avoiding the old soldier's gaze.

Walter chuckled knowingly. "I find it hard to believe that you came here just to escape boredom. There's always an incentive for you, Ben, and if I know you as well as I think I do, that incentive is usually a woman."

Ben shook off his nerves with a shrug, though still wary of the hint of suspicion in the man's voice. "You do know me well, Walter! I'm here to… meet Page. Ah, yes. Page," he smirked at the larger man, "My sources tell me she's a rather wild one. The kind that loses all inhibitions in the right kind of situation."

"Someone told you _that_? About Page?" Walter laughed. "You should double-check your sources, Captain."

Ben looked to the doorway as a young woman with an official air about her walked in then. She nodded at Walter before catching sight of Ben, eyeing his uniform and sighing. "More soldiers, Walter?" she asked irritably, making her way to the middle of the room.

"Page, this is Ben Finn. You can trust him," Walter said reassuringly, "he's a buffoon, but you can trust him." ("Thanks for looking out for me, Wally.")

"You know I don't care for soldiers, trustworthy or not. What's the point of having a 'secret' hideout if we allow anybody with a friendly smile to traipse in and out of it?" Page said as she dropped a handful of papers onto the map, attempting to busy herself with Resistance business.

Ben smirked, giving Page a once-over. "Well, I can see that you _are_ as feisty as they say. I wonder if the other rumors about you are true as well."

"What rumors?" She asked sharply, annoyed that Ben was keeping her from her work.

"There's a number of them floating about Industrial. Some say that you're as saucy as a barmaid once you get a drink or two in you. Others say that you could tear a man's head clean off if he looked at you the wrong way."

"I'll confirm that there's some truth to the latter," she said blankly, returning her attention to the papers in front of her. "You can take that as an informal warning," she added under her breath.

"A warning?" He chortled at the hot-headed woman. "You underestimate me, Page. I'm not just another soldier. There is so much more to me than the handsome and charming man that lies on the surface."

She turned to him with an almost defensive stance. "Oh, and now I suppose you're going to 'casually' mention your many impressive feats in combat?"

That caught him off guard. "Well, uh, yes. That's usually how it plays out…" he mumbled honestly, rubbing the back of his head with a nervous chuckle.

"Save yourself the trouble. As far as I can tell, you're just like every other soldier I've met."

Ben tried to ignore Walter's snicker as it bounced off the sewer walls. "Well, have you ever met a soldier that killed three hollow men with one bullet?" he asked, offering it as a last resort.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Three hollow men? Do you really expect me to believe that?"

"Well I don't see why you wouldn't, considering it's the truth." Ben said, and Page answered with a disbelieving scoff. "I'm telling you, I downed three hollow men with one shot, it's true!"

"I've never trusted a soldier in my life, I'm not going to start now."

Ben threw his hands up in frustration, turning to Walter. "Wh—Will you tell her, Walter?"

"Hey, I'm not getting involved." Walter said with an amused expression.

Ben saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and he looked up just in time to see the princess walk in, faithful canine trotting happily along at her heels. "Look, look, there she is, ask her yourself."

Sarah's forehead creased in confusion. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Ben's telling stories and he's upset that we don't believe him," Page explained with an eye roll.

"They're not stories!" he said insistently.

"Oh, give it a rest," she said, exasperation evident in her voice.

"Fine! I'll just stand here quietly then, shall I?" he said, defeated. The princess smiled at him, and he swore there was only a little bit of pity visible in it.

"That's the most agreeable thing you've said since I've met you," Page said, turning to the princess, eager for a break from this Finn character. "You know for a princess, you're a pretty decent person. People out there are starting to believe in you," Page told her, a surprising amount of sincerity in her voice.

"I knew you two would get along in the end." Walter spoke up from his side of the room.

The Resistance leader turned to the former soldier. "Thank you for taking an interest in my social life, but we have even bigger problems now." Page said, seriousness clouding her face.

Walter followed suit, straigtening up and nodding, clearing his throat. "Yes. Reaver."

Ben played with his thumbs and tried not to look as bored as he felt while the three discussed the more mind-numbing details of the excursion, only finding his interest piqued at the mention of infiltrating a secret party of some sort. He didn't catch all the details, but from what he could tell, it sounded dangerous and exciting (Right up his alley.).

"Here," Page said as she handed a burlap sack to the princess, and he watched as she opened the bag and raised an eyebrow at the contents. "You'll have to wear this."

He looked at Page expectantly. "Great! Where's my costume?" He was only met with a cold stare from Page. "What? I still can't come? Even after the three hollow men story?" he asked in disbelief. "Honestly, this is as bad as the army."

Sarah cleared her throat. "Actually, Page, it might not be a bad idea to bring Ben along," she said, and Ben shot her a grateful look.

The resistance leader scoffed. "What, and risk him screwing everything up? He would just hold us back."

"Sarah's right, Page," Walter boomed, "If something goes wrong, it wouldn't hurt to have a third pair of hands."

"Yes, and, as I'm _sure_ you've heard, I am quite… dexterous when it comes to battle, among other things." Ben said with a smug smile on his face.

Page rolled her eyes before releasing an aggravated sigh. "Fine! The buffoon can come along. But, you're in charge of finding a costume." she said, visibly bristled.

"I can go with him to Bowerstone Market," Sarah offered, "I'm sure they'll have something there."

"Splendid," Page said dryly, "All matters are settled. Now, everyone out. I have a party to dress for."

Ben puffed out his chest, once again turning on his Finn charm. "I'll stay and make sure no one spies on you." He smirked when he heard the princess laugh.

"Everyone. Out." the woman ordered as she pushed the Captain out of the room, stopping the princess as she walked through the doorway, "I'll see you both at Reaver's Manor tonight. Do not be late." Sarah nodded and walked out, closing the door behind her.

Ben stood outside the war room, waiting for her. She smiled at him and they fell into step, making their way to the sewer exit. "Well, that one will prove to be a tough nut to crack. But she can't resist the Finn charm forever. No woman can. Eventually her body will be begging her to give in."

Sarah laughed quietly to herself and he shot a smirk in her direction. "Something amusing, Princess?"

"Oh, just thinking of something the Major told me. Come on, we've got to get to the Market."

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><p><em><strong>This is the longest chapter I've ever written. I hope that all the dialogue wasn't too repetitive for you. I just love the PageBen interactions so much, they're hilarious. And I feel that we only get glimpses of it in the game, so I thought I'd expand it a little. And also, if any of you were wondering or confused, the parentheses**** represent Ben's thoughts. My friend told me that part confused her, so I thought I'd elaborate a little.**_

_**Well, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Forgive me. It's not exactly what I promised you. But that's coming up, I promise. But for now, I need my sleep. (:**_

_**Read and Review. It's easier than ever now, so take advantage. And remember, no flaming!**_

_**TATTY BYE!**_


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